1 Jesus, my Lord, how rich thy grace!
Thy bounties how complete!
How shall I count the matchless sum!
How pay the mighty debt!

2 High on a throne of radiant light,
Dost thou exalted shine;
What can my poverty bestow,
When all the worlds are thine?

3 But thou hast brethren here below,
The partners of thy grace;
And wilt confess their humble names
Before thy Father's face.

4 In them thou may'st be cloth'd and fed,
And visited and cheer'd;
And, in their accents of distress,
My Saviour's voice is heard.

5 Thy face, with rev'rence and with love,
We in thy poor would see;
O let us rather beg our bread
Than keep it back from thee.